


Of New Worlds and Wars

by Catblehs



Category: Chaos Walking - Patrick Ness
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, M/M, Memories, a lil bit, if u squint, or maybe its obvious, u can see the gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 04:51:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17995196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catblehs/pseuds/Catblehs
Summary: Mayor Prentiss recalls a time long before Prentisstown was established and reflects fondly on his memories of a certain ginger-haired farm hand.





	Of New Worlds and Wars

**Author's Note:**

> The worst part about shipping an OC with a canon character: you gotta create all the content yourself.
> 
> This is like... a preface to a bunch of other drabbles I'll be writing about Baz and Prentiss and their history.

He remembers Baz fondly on the days he can have a thought to himself. He remembers the way he used to laugh, his crooked smile and his silly old songs accompanied by a makeshift guitar with it's out-of-tune strings. He loved that damn thing in the early days, loved playing it 'till his fingers rubbed raw and bled on the unpolished wood, 'till he didn't have much choice but to take a break 'till the redness went away and he could do it all again in a couple days time. David wondered if it was a good idea to ruin hands so fragile during farm season before they had their chance to grow tough, but Baz said he didn't mind the pain all that much. He tried to brush David's concerns off with a sing-song joke and a clever rhyme- yet the pain was clear on his face during farmwork in the days 'till the callouses built up 'cross his fingers and palms and he could work just fine, putting down feed and belting out some sort of tune for the sheep and the cows like he always did in the early mornings. 

Baz was David's first taste of complete access to man's thoughts. Baz's songs were his Noise before the war had even begun. All someone had to do was hear Baz's current melody, the way his tone rose or fell and they would know how he was feeling. Sometimes he'd take it a step further, let you know exactly what he's thinking with a song straight from his head; sometimes he'd just spew nonsense for the sake of a rhyme but even then, there was a story about himself to be told. Either way David liked to listen. Being able to read into someone so clearly put him at ease. 

There wasn't any guessing, no walking on eggshells 'case he said something wrong at the wrong time; there was only Baz and his feelings and David's feelings for Baz (though the ginger-haired farmhand didn't know just how much he loved him 'till they were exchanging goodbyes at the edge of New Elizabeth) and the false sense of security shared between the two. They both relished that security, feeling like they could tell each other anything. David with his assurance that Baz would always show what he thought, and Baz with his trust that David would never share the secrets of another man. He'd said that himself, sworn on a new harmonica and some guitar strings that he'd never tell one of Baz's secrets, and Baz believed him. 

When the war broke out between human and Spackle, everyone in New Elizabeth pretended things were okay for as long as they could. Stores remained open and people chatted amongst themselves in the streets, two young men not too much older than David himself got married in the chapel on a Sunday afternoon-- but there was no ignoring the far off gunshots and the murmurs that spread around town like wildfire, and the soldiers that marched into the town square that brought the draft with them. Baz was lucky. A soft one like him could never kill; the soldiers saw that in him the second they looked into Baz's eyes, but David wasn't spared and into battle he went with little training and a loaded gun. 

He promised Baz he'd write and he did, every day. He wrote about whatever he could; about the war, bout the Spacks and what they were like and the things he's seen and about how some of the soldiers liked to hum or sing and how much it made him miss Baz. Sure they weren't as good at the whole singing thing as Baz was, their voices rough and scratchy from the shouting and tone all wonky from the shotgun-induced ringing in their ears, but the melody was there and with it, thoughts of Baz and the farm they worked on together. He couldn't wait to come home. 

He's not sure when it happened, when the air took it's toll and the lives of every man on New World were changed forever, but he remembers the faint inklings of other sounds (sounds he'd soon realize were the thoughts of other men) creeping into the atmosphere and growing stronger, louder each day, and louder still as they marched back towards home after a battle presumably won. Pretty soon he could hear everything from everyone at once though their lips never moved, everything they wanted to or didn't want to say, culminating in this one overlapping mess of neverending Noise. Everyone could hear him too. They could hear him, the way he oozed with " _tired_ " and " _no control_ " and " _Baz_ " and " _Spackle_ " and " _What if it's a germ?_ " which the other men caught on to and began to wonder about themselves.

He hated it. They all hated it. Nothing was sacred, nothing was concealed, and suddenly David was wondering if Baz's Noise would be as clear and open as David percieved Baz himself to be. 

Turns out it wasn't. It was a mess of song and rhyme and " _Sheep_ " and " _Davey's home_ " and " _Noise..._ ", and for the first few days it was annoying. David didn't mind the musical mishmash or the odd thoughts about Baz's sheep- he minded the lack of actual substance. Where were the other thoughts? The worry over the war or the fears for the future? After a few days of playfully trying to seperate the layers of noise, David came to realize that everything was there. All the fear, all the worry, relief and sadness and thoughts ranging from what was for dinner to his hatred for the war; Baz was hiding it in plain sight. 

Maybe, David began to think. Maybe he could start doing that too.


End file.
